


Interludes: Dispatches from the Road

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Series: Traitorous Hearts [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, friendship!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 05:18:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17861036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: Prompt fills and drabbles from the adventures of Rhiona Cousland.





	1. The Tower of Ishal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiona and Alistair light the signal fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted as a stand-alone piece, but wanted to include it in this collection of short works.

The ogre’s death rattle shook the stone floor of the tower as it fell, Alistair’s sword lodged deeply in its side. Rhiona tore off her helmet to wipe the blood from her eyes, fingers gingerly testing the wound at her temple.

“Light the beacon,” she called to him.

“Ah, yes, Lady Cousland.”

“I’m not a… never mind.” She sighed as the fire blazed to life in the brazier. Rhiona stepped carefully to the edge of the tower and turned her attention to the battlefield below.

The sight churned her stomach--darkspawn fell upon King Cailan’s army and the men and women fought valiantly, but it wasn’t enough. The dying light did nothing to conceal the gore and horrors of battle, the way the darkspawn slaughtered and--Andraste's grace, they were  _eating_  her dead countrymen.

“Maker preserve us all.” Alistair dropped to his knees with a grunt, cradling his arm tightly to his chest, his eyes unblinking as he stared at the battle below them.

She watched and waited for… Nothing happened. Why was nothing happening?

“Loghain, where are you?” she breathed. They lit the fire at the tower, just as planned, and the general was supposed to take to the field, flanking the horde to drive it onto Cailan’s sword. Rhiona squinted at the far rise, where the general’s men were supposed to lay in wait, but the flames of torches at the edge of the valley flickered.

They were moving, she thought distractedly, watching them in the low light of dusk. Loghain was… he was quitting the field.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Alistair shouted, pounding his fist against the floor. “Loghain!  _Loghain!”_

Long minutes came and went as the King’s army fell to the blighted beasts, unable to withstand the horde without support from their compatriots. A keening cry echoed off the stones of the Tower of Ishal; Rhiona slumped to the floor, belatedly recognizing the noise as her own. She and Alistair watched in horror as the carnage unfolded below them, the clashing of steel dying as swiftly as the Ferelden army.

Soon it was silent but for the triumphant roaring of the beasts.

“No! No, no,  _no!”_  Alistair cried wildly. “He left us! He _betrayed_ us!”

Rhiona held her head in her hands, her stinging eyes clenched against the sight of Loghain in her arms just that morning. “He would never, he would… he’d never,” she sobbed into her palms, even after watching his retreat. “Loghain loves Ferelden more than his own life. He would never!”

“Then he must hold both in low regard,” Alistair bit out. He staggered to his feet, swaying dangerously as she looked up at him through her fingers. “Come on, my lady, we have to get out of here.”

“I’m not a--Alistair?”

He wobbled again and collapsed, hitting the stone floor with a sickening crack.

_“Alistair!”_


	2. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way back from Orzammar, heading toward Redcliffe, Rhiona and Sten share a moment of peace.

A blush of pink tinged the horizon as Rhiona took a final patrol of the camp, her sword strapped comfortably at her left hip. She stepped back into the clearing from the treeline to find Sten, cross-legged in the dewy grass. 

“Good morning. Mind if I join you?”

He grunted, gesturing to his side without opening his eyes. 

She unstrapped her sword belt before she sat, settling her sword at her hip. Rhiona shuffled in the grass and watched as the sky brightened. “Why do you get up so early, Sten?” she asked, leaning back to lay flat. 

“I like the quiet. It is peaceful.” 

Clouds swept lazily across the sky, caught in the gradual warming of the dawn. Around them the birds woke, their calls filling the morning air. 

“Would you tell me more about Par Vollen and Seheron?” Rhiona asked. “I can’t imagine somewhere so hot.” 

Her words were met with silence. She tried again. “Do you miss your brothers in arms, the antaam _?”_

Again, he was quiet. 

“Can you tell me about–”

“Warden. _Kadan_.” Sten sighed and opened his eyes, shifting to look at her. “Answers later, meditation now. Find your peace.” 

He gave the briefest smile, a quick twitch of his lips before he settled once more, his hands on his knees and posture relaxed. “ _Kost_ ,” he said. “Peace.”

“ _Kost_ ,” she echoed. Rhiona sat up and took in the pink and orange light that heralded the sun’s arrival. 

She closed her eyes against the bright dawn with a smile.


	3. Coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all have their coping mechanisms--Rhiona has her letters to Loghain Mac Tir.

Rhiona still writes to him. She can’t quite help it - or if she could, she doesn’t want to. It’s not like she puts anything meaningful in the notes and letters she writes. Just her observations, her wishes, her hopes and fears. As dangerous, as disastrous as the thought is, Loghain is the last link she has to her old life. 

They all have their coping mechanisms, their temporary escapes. Alistair has his worry stone. Zevran has his daggers. Sten has his meditation. Leliana has her prayers. Wynne has her books. Morrigan has her grimoire. 

And Rhiona has her letters to Loghain Mac Tir. 

> A. would kill me if he saw these. I rarely even send them, but he would see even the _wanting_  to write as a betrayal, to him personally, to the Order, to Ferelden. 
> 
> I haven’t told him about our… past. I don’t know if I will. It’s none of his business, anyway. And what would it accomplish? What value would that add to our friendship, to our cause? No - better let him think otherwise, that I’m just another prissy noblewoman who believed too wholeheartedly in the legend of the Hero of River Dane, Ferelden’s noble son, decorated veteran of the Rebellion. 
> 
> Let him think my heartbreak is only the pain of a hero brought low.
> 
> We worked our way through a town recently, and I stopped by a bookstore. I can’t tell you why we were there, or where - Maker’s grace, I can’t tell you much at all anymore, can I? - but I found a book of Marcher poetry, like the one you gifted me last year. A particular entry made me think of you. 
> 
> _Crumbling is not an instant’s Act_  
>  A fundamental pause  
>  Dilapidation’s processes  
>  Are organized Decays —  
>    
>  ‘Tis first a Cobweb on the Soul  
>  A Cuticle of Dust  
>  A Borer in the Axis  
>  An Elemental Rust —  
>    
>  Ruin is formal — Demon’s work  
>  Consecutive and slow —  
>  Fail in an instant, no man did  
>  Slipping — is the Maker’s law — 
> 
> I pray you see this. I pray that you read these words and understand them, that you understand what I say. Please. You have the power to end this, to bring peace once more. 
> 
> Please, ~~lo-~~ Please reconsider the path you have plotted for our beloved Ferelden. Already, too much blood has been spilled. I cannot imagine your Maric would have wanted this for you, for us all. 
> 
> I beg you, reconsider your ruin.
> 
> ~~Yours,~~
> 
> R.

Rhiona considered her words. Nothing incriminating, for the most part, though if anyone was particularly interested, they surely would figure out the intended recipient soon enough. 

She sighed and folded up the page, tucking it into a pocket of her trousers. There was still some time before they would reach the next city, the next opportunity to send the misshapen, deformed love letter. It would give her time to reconsider her words, or whether to send it at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [poem slightly adapted from Emily Dickenson’s “Crumbling is not an Instant’s Act”]


	4. Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unsent letter to Loghain Mac Tir, written just before the Landsmeet.

_Found in the remains of the campfire, singed and burnt but legible._

> By now you’ll have heard of Eamon’s recovery, and that he marches against you. He has called the Landsmeet to decry your crimes. 
> 
> You will be judged, and you will be found wanting, and you will be destroyed. As much as I cannot bear to think of this, you are not the man I love. You are no longer the Hero of River Dane, a savior of Ferelden.
> 
> You are her ruin, and I fear I will be yours.
> 
> Was any of it-- _us--_ real? I suppose I don’t get to know the answer, and I’m not sure I want to hear it. Anything you might say is only another poisoned dagger you failed to kill me with. Yes, and it wasn’t enough to sway you from your madness; yes, and you deliberately seek to hurt me, after all we’ve shared. No, and I was a fool, following you blindly, loving you carelessly. 
> 
> I am terrified, Loghain--of you, _for_ you, of what you think is reasonable and right. I spend my nights wishing I had been stronger, that I could understand how you could pursue these crimes against Ferelden and her people. You have made me your loving enemy, and I must hate you for it.
> 
> I wish that we were still at Ostagar. Even were the same events to take place, I would still rather see a thousand darkspawn gathered before me than to have you at the end of my blade. Ferelden will soon lose another proud and loyal son to your madness, and you, at least, will deserve it. Knowing this does not make the loss any easier to bear. I pray that there is another option, and that the Maker deems me wise enough to see it.
> 
> I must console myself in the knowledge that you will get what you deserve, but I hesitate to say what that truly is. Is no man worthy of atonement? Even Archon Hessarian found the Maker’s Light and found salvation. Would you seek it, given the chance? Would anyone offer it to you?
> 
> Would I be a madwoman to hope that you could find it?
> 
> Maker preserve us both until we meet again, but I pray He leaves us to our own devices from then on.


	5. Between Request and Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiona and Leliana share a quick prayer before meeting the Landsmeet.

Rhiona turned around, checking her wardrobe one last time. “Too much?” she asked. “Too late, at any rate. But do you think…?”

Leliana eyed her critically before adjusting the fall of Rhiona’s tabard over her breastplate. “If only we had more time,” she lamented. Leliana brushed her hands over imaginary dust on the Cousland coat of arms. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this.”

“You and me both, Leli.” Rhiona bit her lip. Cousland’s crest lay emblazoned over her chest, just as it should be, and the Grey Warden griffons flew upon her shoulders. The silverite of her sword pommel gleamed from within the shadows of her cloak. Her hand had never felt so empty of its presence. 

The song of trumpets rang out in the hall, the signal for the commencement of the Landsmeet. She had attended it before, but the noise now filled her with cacophonous dread.

“This is it,” Rhiona said breathlessly. Her heart thumped woodenly in her chest. Today she would accuse Loghain Mac Tir of high treason, and if she didn’t prove her case and win the support of the assembly, her own lover would kill her. 

And if she won, she would have to watch his execution.

She got one step away before turning back. “Pray for me, Sister Leliana,” Rhiona begged. She clasped their hands together. “Please.”

Leliana nodded and closed her eyes. “Blessed Andraste, our Lady Redeemer, guide us now as you have through our lives. We beg your blessing and intercession for Rhiona, that she is successful in the Landsmeet, and that we may go forth to defend Thedas and end the Blight. We rejoice in the light of the Maker and in Your divine love.”

Rhiona swallowed thickly and nodded, blinking away tears. “Thank you, Leli.” 

Leliana squeezed her hands. “Maker watch over you, Ree. I pray for your success in this.” She rose on her toes and brushed a light kiss to Rhiona’s temple. “I was taught that your last piece of jewelry should be a kiss, for luck,” she said with a faint smile. 

They hugged before parting. Rhiona withdrew a thin leather case from an inner pocket of her cloak and handed it to Leliana. “If things–if things don’t work out, I need you to get to my sister. These are letters of introduction and explanation to my family’s staff, or what’s left of it. Seneschal Nysse at the Denerim estate will know best how to help you. Get to Elissa at the University of Orlais. Make sure–”

“Warden Cousland,” a voice called behind her. 

“Make sure you get to Elissa, Leliana. Promise me you’ll bring her back to Highever. Promise me!” 

“I promise, _mon amie._ ” Leliana clutched the case to her chest. “Good luck.”

Rhiona nodded and drew herself tall. She clenched her hands before letting out a shuddering breath. “Maker watch over you, too, Leli.” Rhiona walked to the thick double-doors of the Great Hall with more confidence than she felt.

It was time to face the wyvern in his own halls. 


	6. After

“You could go back,” Loghain says, two nights after the Archdemon falls. “To Highever. To Castle Cousland.”

It’s the first words he’s said to her. They parted when the demon fell beneath her sword and she knew, she _knew_ he had gone to Morrigan and her infernal designs, and her heart burst upon the stone floors of Fort Drakon. 

Oh, Castle Cousland…

She curls in on herself. “Don’t ask me that,” Rhiona snaps into the darkness, rolling over in her blankets to turn her back to him. Loghain closes the door behind him but does not enter further, just closes off the light from the sconce-filled hallway beyond. 

“You’re the _Hero of fucking Ferelden_.” She doesn’t need to look at him to know how his lips curl into a sneer on the epithet. “You could do anything. The Wardens would hesitate to do more than demand that you come to their wretched little fortress in the desert.” His voice softens, just a little. “You could go back to how things were, Ree.” 

“How could I?” Rhiona turns and sits up, pushing her hair out of her face where it escapes her braid. “How could I possibly go back to the way things were, Loghain? The King is dead, and his widow forced into a sham marriage just to keep the throne. The Blight has decimated our lands and our people. A man we all trusted betrayed us, betrayed Ferelden, played us all like pawns, and you…” 

Loghain is quiet. “And me,” he sighs finally. His boots are heavy on the rug as he steps closer, drawing a chair from the nearby desk. “What will you have of me now, Warden Cousland? With Alistair back, the Landsmeet assuaged, and your own brother arriving soon for his unwilling coronation, there is little you could do now. You are now, perhaps, the most powerful woman in the country, save for Anora. All of Ferelden bends before you and would bow to your wish, whatever it may be.” 

“Don’t ask me that,” she says again, quieter now. 

“I must. The country demands it, whether they’ve voiced it or not.” 

“Then ask the real question, Loghain.” She glares pointedly at him, its effect lost in the darkness of the room. “Don’t dance around - just ask me.” 

He huffs, but, uncharacteristically, doesn’t press. Rhiona sighs and slips back among her pillows. “I’m tired,” she says quietly. “Either come back to me or leave, but you must make the choice. I can’t make it for you.” 

Loghain doesn’t answer. Rhiona closes her eyes and turns away once more, fingers fisting in the quilt when he eventually leaves without a word.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at [ocean-in-my-rebel-soul!](https://ocean-in-my-rebel-soul.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Comments and concrit always appreciated! Thank you for reading!


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